The Wreck

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'.
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead,
When the skies of November are gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
The good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early.
The ship was the pride of the American side,
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
Which they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.
At seven P.M., the old cook came on deck sayin'
'Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya'.
When the captain wired in he had water comin' in,
He said 'Fellas, it's been good t'know ya'
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Erie can send her,
But the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the Gales of November remembered.